


forget a picture, give me a thousand words

by renecdote



Category: DCU
Genre: Angst, Bedside Vigils, Breakfast in Bed, Cuddling & Snuggling, Declarations Of Love, Domestic Trinity, Fluff, Multi, fear toxin, it causes angst which leads to fluff, really they should be thanking scarecrow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-08 23:35:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14704812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renecdote/pseuds/renecdote
Summary: Sometimes, words do speak louder than actions.





	forget a picture, give me a thousand words

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Nova](https://second-hand-heaven.tumblr.com/) on tumblr for the request: "then why don't you say you love me?" for some superwonderbat plz ren? ❤❤❤

It starts with screaming. Bruce’s screaming, as Clark and Diana wrestle him onto a gurney in the Cave’s med bay. They hadn’t been expecting Scarecrow. Clark isn’t sure they would’ve been prepared for this even if they had.

“Get his leg-!”

“I’ve got it, watch his-“

“Ow. Shit.”

“-arm.”

Alfred is there, tying leather straps around the limbs Clark and Diana hold still. Bruce’s head thrashes wildly. His screams warble between terrified and angry. It’s haunting.

Clark collapses into a chair by the gurney while Alfred injects a syringe into Bruce’s neck. Diana stays standing, one hand on Bruce’s hip, eyes watching the delirious movements of his lips.

“What can we do?” she asks.

Clark doesn’t reply. Alfred says, “Nothing except wait.”

It’s two a.m. and the Cave echoes with Bruce’s screams.

—

After the screaming dies down, Bruce sobs. Whatever sedative Alfred gave him hasn’t put him to sleep and Diana isn’t sure if it should have. She wipes his brow with a cloth and despairs for the pain etched into her partner’s face.

Clark is sitting with his head in his hands. There’s a mug of tea cooling by his feet; Diana’s mug is long since empty.

“It’s not your fault, Kal,” Diana says.

Clark lifts his head to watch her sit the cloth down and comb her fingers through Bruce’s hair. “It’s not yours either.”

They sit and they watch and they wait. All the while trying not to drown in the pain of needing to help but not being able to.

—

Bruce is lucid for three minutes. It’s just long enough to pull Clark’s world out from under his feet.

“It’s okay, Bruce,” he murmurs, leaning over the gurney. Diana is upstairs with Alfred; she’ll be disappointed she missed Bruce waking. “You’re safe, we’re in the Cave.”

Bruce’s eyes flit around the med bay. “Thought I was dreaming...”

Clark squeezes his hand. “You were. You’re awake now. Alfred gave you an antidote, the fear toxin should be almost out of your system.”

Bruce looks at him, open and anguished. “Then why don’t you say you love me?”

And then he passes back out.

—

“I think...” Clark says slowly. “I think that Bruce loves us.”

Diana leans her head against Clark’s, cheek against his temple. They’ve given up taking turns and are sharing the chair. Diane arm hugs Clark’s shoulder and his arm hugs her waist. There is empty space where a third person should fill their other arms. They are both consciously aware of it.

“He woke up a bit but thought he was still dreaming.” Bruce’s eyes are moving restlessly behind his eyelids now, back in the fear-warped dreams. “And he asked why I didn’t say I loved him.” Clark bites at the knuckle of his thumb. “I think he’s afraid that we don’t.”

“Don’t love him?” There is surprise in her voice that Diana cannot hide. “That’s ridiculous, of course we do.”

“Have you ever told him that?”

Realisation washes over Diana like an icy wave. Her voice is barely louder than a whisper when she says, “No, I... I don’t think I have.”

Clark’s mouth is a grim line. “I don’t think I have either.”

—

The thing is, Bruce isn’t fond of discussing emotions. And telling someone you love them? That’s a lead in to a pretty big emotional discussion. Clark hadn’t wanted to make him uncomfortable, to put pressure on him to say it back, to scare him off. So he’d bitten his lip the first time the words had snuck up on him, bloody and exhausted but victorious at the edge of a battlefield. Bitten it many times since.

He regrets that now. Deeply.

Somewhere along the way they’d gotten so comfortable together that he’d forgotten he’d never said those three little words out loud. He’d whispered them with lazy morning kisses. He’d shouted them with surprise coffee runs. He’d prayed them with hands pressed down on bleeding wounds. But he’d never _said_ them.

He does now, murmuring them to his and Bruce’s joined hands. “I love you, Bruce.”

Bruce hand remains slack. Regret feels like a Kryptonite block in Clark’s chest.

—

It’s not Bruce’s fault, far from it, but Diana had been sure he knew they loved him. Had she not said it with every bullet blocked? Had he not heard it from every sensual touch?

Had she truly never said it aloud?

The words taste sweet on her tongue now as she murmurs them to their sleeping recipient. “I love you, Bruce.”

He does not respond. Regret tastes bitter sliding down Diana’s throat.

—

They help Bruce move upstairs to his own bed as the sun bathes the Manor’s dewy lawns in early morning light. He doesn’t mention what he said to Clark.

Clark closes the curtains and crawls between the sheets on Bruce’s left. He doesn’t mention what Bruce said to him.

Diana pulls the covers up over all of them when they’re settled. She doesn’t mention what Clark said to her.

—

It began with screams. It ends with a bouquet of roses. It’s cliche and sappy but Clark doesn’t care. He gets down on his knees in the Manor gardens and carefully clips where Alfred said he should.

Diana is the kitchen, chatting pleasantly as she works with Alfred to prepare an omelette and coffee. Clark can hear them laughing. Upstairs, he can hear Bruce snoring.

The roses are arranged in a vase, three of them, the deep red of garnets. The vase is placed on a tray between a plate and a mug. The tray is carried upstairs to the master bedroom.

Bruce’s voice is rough as they place it over his lap and snuggle up on either side. “You didn’t have to.”

Clark’s touch is warmer than the sunshine pouring in. “We wanted to.”

Diana’s smile is sweeter than the fragrant roses. “We needed to.”

Bruce looks between them. He looks down at the tray. “This feels like an apology.”

“We need a reason to bring you breakfast in bed?”

“Yes.”

“Well, how about that we love you. Is that reason enough?”

Bruce’s hand stills on the handle of the coffee mug. A beat of silence. Then he lifts it to his lips and takes a sip. “It’s a little... cliche,” he says slowly. “But I suppose I can forgive it. Because I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are always appreciated, or come find me on tumblr [here](http://tantalum-cobalt.tumblr.com).


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